


Occasionally, They Smoked

by writingandchocolatemilk



Series: SwissMano Series [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Much Smoking, Requests, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 18:00:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3390962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingandchocolatemilk/pseuds/writingandchocolatemilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was cold this time of year in England. The smokers huddled around the door of the office building, bumming smokes off of one another and chatting in whatever language was common between them. Switzerland was there, of course.</p><p>Romano had ended up next to him. “Why do you even come to these things,” he asked, opening his cigarette case, “Considering you’d just blow yourself up if anyone came too close?”</p><p>Switzerland muttered something in French, but he responded in Italian. “I still need to know what you assholes are up to. I’m neutral, not uninformed.”</p><p>Romano tilted his head in agreement, pulling out one of his cigarettes. He offered the case to Switzerland. The nation looked from the case to Romano, suspicious for whatever reason. Romano rolled his eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Occasionally, They Smoked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nonsensehetaliafanfiction](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=nonsensehetaliafanfiction).



They smoked, occasionally. Never anything formal, at the back of whatever building had been decided for the World Meeting. Only a few would gather at the back, some for a quick puff, others for a more stress-reducing break.

Switzerland didn’t smoke. He muttered this under his breath when he would join them, leaning against the building, watching the smoke trails wistfully. Romano would sit on the curb, head turned to watch Switzerland breathe in the second hand smoke.

It was cold this time of year in England. The smokers huddled around the door of the office building, bumming smokes off of one another and chatting in whatever language was common between them. Switzerland was there, of course.

Romano had ended up next to him. “Why do you even come to these things,” he asked, opening his cigarette case, “Considering you’d just blow yourself up if anyone came too close?”

Switzerland muttered something in French, but he responded in Italian. “I still need to know what you assholes are up to. I’m neutral, not uninformed.”

Romano tilted his head in agreement, pulling out one of his cigarettes. He offered the case to Switzerland. The nation looked from the case to Romano, suspicious for whatever reason. Romano rolled his eyes.

“This case it metal, pick a cigarette before my fucking fingers fall off, yeah?”

Switzerland scowled, but chose a cigarette, anyways. Romano tucked the case away, searching his pockets for his lighter. Switzerland examined the cigarette, flicking it slightly in his hands.

“Liechtenstein doesn’t like me smoking,” he admitted, sticking the cigarette in his mouth.

Romano snorted. He clicked his lighter to life, protecting it from the wind with his hand and lighting his cigarette. His eyes flicked away when Switzerland leaned forward to light his as well. “What, is she your keeper or something?”

Switzerland took a long drag. “You’re one to talk—how’s your brother? Still nagging you about that porn party?” A quick grin, one sharp and pointed. “Personally, I thought they were funny.”

Romano bit down on his cigarette. “Bite me.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t go around trying to insult people. Liechtenstein thinks it’s bad for my health, and she’s right.” Switzerland blew a smoke ring. “This is a good cigarette. What brand?”

“I roll them myself, actually,” Romano muttered, “Ass.”

Romano saw Switzerland’s jaw clench. “Why am I an ass?”

“You just assumed that Italian cigarettes would suck,” Romano flicked his cigarette away, switching to English, “And I don’t appreciate that.”

Switzerland disappeared from the back of buildings for a couple of months. It was just Romano, smoking his expensive tobacco and grumbling when his brother would try to steal one off of him. When Romano would walk back inside, Switzerland would stand and stretch his legs, following Romano as he went to get a cup of coffee.

Sometimes, when Romano would be fixing a snack, he would look out of the corner of his eye and see Switzerland looking at him from the conference table. It gave Romano the heebie-jeebies, made him spill drinks or drop his phone during a call.

Finally, after months of glares from Switzerland and Romano missing staring at someone breathing in other people’s smoke, Romano walked up to Switzerland. The neutral nation gave him a curious, cautious look.

"Look,” Romano spat through gritted teeth, “I’m sorry about the ass comment. Now, would you stop being a whiney mother fucking bitch and come stand back outside?”

Switzerland raised an eyebrow, looking over his shoulder quickly before leaning forward; Romano took a step back. Over Switzerland’s shoulder, Romano caught sight of Liechtenstein talking to Hungary, laughing and playing with each other’s hair.

“You have quite the fucking mouth for wanting me to rejoin you. Besides,” Switzerland leaned back slightly, looking to his right as America waltzed into the room, “I told you I don’t smoke.”

“Seriously? Why the hell do you stand outside then—certainly not the view.”

Switzerland closed his eyes briefly, and then gave Romano a glare. “Why do you even care?” He was slipping into German, “You barely even talk to me. You just give me these looks like you’re judging me for standing!”

Romano curled his lip. “Please—I never look at you! You’re the one who follows after me whenever I get inside, creeping up on me like some—“ Romano became aware of how loud his voice was getting, and lowered it to a hiss, “Some _creeper_ or something!”

  “ _Creeper_!” Switzerland yelled.

“No, fuck, you just—are you fucking smelling me? When I walk in?” Romano leaned closer, desperate to get the answer, “Like, because my cigarettes smell good and you want to smoke some more?”

Switzerland stared. “Italy, what the hell are you talking about?”

Oh, God, Romano had royally fucked up. He ran a hand over his face, knowing his face was probably red. “I—fuck, fuck, look, I got you some cigarettes, here—“ Romano fumbled for the box he had gotten, nearly dropping it. “Shit.”

Switzerland snorted, but it might have been a laugh. 

**Author's Note:**

>  **From nonsensehetaliafanfiction:** A Swissmano Drabble please? //shot


End file.
